


Not the end, but the start of all things that are left to do

by solesism



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Title from a Hozier Song, fun fact im an ecologist to be, making up ecology, that's not stopping me. whatver. she miracled it idk, the working title for this is 'harold...'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:11:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solesism/pseuds/solesism
Summary: Crowley turns around to face the shore. “Come on in, angel,” she yells, louder than she needs to to be heard above the waves. “The water’s fine.”-Or, a post-apocawasn't beach day.





	Not the end, but the start of all things that are left to do

Crowley laughs, giddy, as she sloshes through the water. The sun, just barely beginning to set, turns her brown hair into a riot of red and purple and maroon, and the chunk of hair that always falls down in her face gets pushed back with sea-damp hands.

She wades in until the water is waist deep, deep enough that she can feel her body wanting to float. Crowley turns around to face the shore. “Come on in, angel,” she yells, louder than she needs to to be heard above the waves. “The water’s _fine_.”

Aziraphale juts out one hip, the black bundle of Crowley’s clothes held up to her chest. “The sand,” she whines. “Our clothes.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Crowley waves her hand with a wicked smile. Aziraphale squeaks as her floral dress disappears, stowed away safely in another dimension.

“Crowley!” She hisses, mouth twisted. She covers herself with her hands as best she can and looks around the beach. Finding it empty of everything but the two of them, she glares at Crowley and rolls her shoulders; her apricot dove’s wings unfurl and wrap around her, leaving nothing but her shins and eyes exposed.

Crowley closes her eyes and falls backwards. A wave washes over her, pushing her a few feet towards the shore. She opens her eyes and blinks a few times until the world comes into aquatic, shimmering focus. She looks down at her hands and wiggles her fingers, for nothing more than to marvel that she _has_ fingers, still, and she can wiggle them. She does the same with her toes, burying them in the sand and smiling to taste the salt in her mouth before standing up.

Aziraphale is still glaring mightily at her over the tops of her pale, speckled wings. Crowley moves towards her a few steps, until the water caresses the tops of her thighs. “Ruffled your feathers, did I?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffs. She shivers a little, trying unsuccessfully to get her (very ruffled) feathers to lay down.

Crowley puts her hands on her hips and tips her head back to the sky for a split second, just long enough to sigh, before sloppily making her way out of the water. Aziraphale’s gaze is stuck resolutely on her face.

Crowley reaches out and drags the tips of her fingers over a splayed primary feather; though it rises further up, it lays flat with a few more strokes. Aziraphale sighs softly. 

“Come on, angel,” Crowley says under her breath. “Come for a swim with me.”

“I’m _naked_.”

Crowley manages not to roll her eyes, but only barely. “Nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, I am too.”

“What if somebody sees us?”

“What’s the harm if they do?” Crowley smirks. Aziraphale stares at her incredulously and she does roll her eyes, this time. “It’s not _fun_ if there’s no risk! Besides, any human would be _much_ more concerned with _wings_ than two women skinnydipping on a _private_ beach.”

“A beach can’t be private,” Aziraphale mutters. She rolls her shoulders again and her wings disappear, leaving all those glorious, soft curves of tawny skin open to the sun and Crowley’s gaze. Aziraphale flushes even more when she realizes what Crowley’s looking at. “Hey, now,” she snaps.

Crowley looks back up at her face. “Yes, angel?” She schools her face into the very picture of innocence. Aziraphale cocks an eyebrow and Crowley steps back. “Sorry,” she says, hands raised just slightly. “We can... leave, if you’d like.”

Aziraphale looks up, startled. “No, I— You...” She blinks rapidly for a moment, staring over Crowley’s shoulder before focusing on her eyes again. “Just don’t look at me so hard,” she says peevishly. 

Crowley doesn’t laugh, but only barely. 

“Alright, then,” she grumbles. “No looking.” She turns her head out towards the ocean and holds her hand out. 

Aziraphale takes her hand. “I didn’t say no looking,” she mutters. “Just so long as you don’t do it like...”

Crowley looks over her shoulder with a sharp grin. “Like what?”

“Like _that_,” Aziraphale says. 

“‘s it alright if I look at you soft, then?”

“Abso_lute_ly not,” the angel sniffed. “Let’s go swim.” Still holding her hand, Aziraphale pulls her into the water.

Crowley smiles, unseen. They wade out up to Aziraphale’s chest before the angel lets go of her hand to lay back and float; Crowley joins her using a minor miracle (this body didn’t much like to float, truth be told). 

The water rocks them like a cradle. Crowley straightens first, ducking under the water to get the hair out of her face. The tide has dragged them out further, and she can no longer feel the bottom; a quick glance reveals it’s only ten feet below. Aziraphale is staring up at the fiery, beautiful sky, looking for all the world like she doesn’t know Crowley is even there.

Under-the-water is beginning to fade from gold to green, but Crowley’s sharp, nocturnal eyes still catch the muddy curve of a shell half buried in the sand. She doesn’t bother to take a breath before she dives under. The shell hums with life as she pries it out, and she looks inside with something more than her eyes.

She looks up at the silhouette of Aziraphale and smiles. 

Crowley surfaces beside her and starts treading water. “Hey,” she says. “Got you something.”

“Mm?” Aziraphale says. She kicks herself upright. Crowley offers her the mollusk. 

“Lovely,” Aziraphale says drily. 

“Gold lip oyster,” Crowley says. “Open it.”

Aziraphale gives her a curious look, but takes the two halves of the shell in her hands. Tongue poking ever-so-slightly out of the corner of her mouth, she manages to sink her thumbnail in the small crack between the halves. With a small grunt of exertion and more than a bit of ethereal strength, she splits the oyster in two. 

“Oh,” she says softly. 

Crowley moves closer and smiles. Tucked amongst the pale, soft flesh of the animal is a creamy, champagne-colored pearl the size of a pea, perfectly round and nacreous. 

“How did you know?” Aziraphale asks.

“Luck,” Crowley says. She lets herself watch Aziraphale’s face, positively glowing with pleasure, as she oh-so-carefully pulls the pearl out and rests it in her palm. 

She offers the shell to Crowley, but she shakes her head. With a small shrug and a shy smile, Aziraphale digs her finger under the oyster to free it from the shell. Crowley watches her tilt her head back to eat it. 

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale says. She leans over and presses her lips to Crowley’s cheek. 

“You know,” Crowley says, because she’s kind of worried she’ll discorporate if she doesn’t make a joke right-now-immediately, “humans say that oysters are an aphrodisiac.”

Aziraphale doesn’t berate or chide her, surprisingly; she just looks at her sidelong, dimples twitching. “Really? I think pearls do the job better, myself.”

Crowley swallows. Aziraphale keeps looking at her. “Er,” she says.

“Pearls, and stopping the apocalypse. It’s been a long few days, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “Shall we go back to the hotel?”

“We have a hotel?” Crowley says dumbly.

“We do now,” Aziraphale says with a cheeky grin, settling into an easy breaststroke. “The honeymoon suite.”

"I," Crowley blinked. "Oh. Yes, that's— that'll work."


End file.
